


Bloody Infamy

by Mimikaze



Category: Vampire Academy Series - Richelle Mead
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-02
Updated: 2012-12-02
Packaged: 2017-11-20 02:53:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/580489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mimikaze/pseuds/Mimikaze
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Facing her fate, Rose has no more choice. Her awakening or her death. Stuck between a tree and her beloved, she must now make up her mind. But are the dice not already thrown?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bloody Infamy

**_ Bloody Infamy _ **

 

**“R** oza,” said a man’s voice with weariness. “Stop struggling and let me convert you. This is your only chance before you force me to kill you. It would be a pity to lose someone of your worth . . . and your beauty.”

Pressed against a tree trunk by a body heavier than hers, Rose Hathaway tried to free her wrists held above her head by her assailant’s hands in a desperate burst. In vain. The girl had lost her last strength during her escape out of her gilded prison and during her fights against the Strigoi, enemies of light and immortal bloodsuckers. Moreover, the fact of having allowed Dimitri Belikov—the man of her life, the one whom she had sworn to free the soul by eliminating him and, secondarily, her former jailer—to feed from her neck had not helped her recover most part of her energy. Injected at the time of the bite, the endorphins her body had welcomed with joy had put the dhampir in a state dependency toward the fangs and a state of euphoria, an obstacle to a serious reflection on her situation. The half vampire did not possess the necessary resources to oppose her opponent. In spite of being determined, she ignored how she could defeat her ex-mentor, who had become stronger since his awakening. Except for facing in _her own_ way things that would show . . . if she, of course, did not succumb to the delight caused by the teeth piercing her sun-tanned skin.

While the novice was on the verge of giving a heartfelt retort—her trademark—her beloved took advantage of her weakness to free her nape by pulling down the arm he had kept lifted until then. Careful, because he knew how quenching Abe Mazur’s daughter was, he put it behind her back. Once his precautions taken, the Russian pressed his imposing chest against his fugitive’s bust, before sinking his sharp canines into her flesh. During long minutes, he drank the luscious and carmine nectar, striving to assuage his unquenchable thirst. Rich, warm, and thick, the beverage flowed into his dried throat, animating his entire being and regenerating his vigour diminished by his previous clashes. During long minutes, the demon with a human appearance absorbed the life essence he craved so much. Sufficiently sated, he ceased his activity in order to remove his mouth from the vein he had drunk at. The next moment, he dipped his eyes with red pupils—recollection of his shape—into his talented student’s to notice her dreamy expression, nearly languorous. “ _Perfect_ ,” he thought with satisfaction. She would not try to resist him anymore. Indeed, the Nosferatu had projects for his fairy, projects he wished to implement really soon, a reason why it was preferable that she did not show herself obstinate.

Ready to put his plan into action, the Siberian leaned towards his languid partner’s ear and said, “I’ve changed my mind, Roza. I want you. _Now_. Before I awaken you.” Suiting the action to the word, Dimitri pressed his frozen lips against his mate’s in a voracious, burning kiss. Their tongues did not take long to start a sensual waltz during which the vampire revealed to be more domineering than usual. As yet he had contained his white-hot passion, desiring to possess the dhampir once her conversion completed. He had no patience to wait any longer. In fact, the demands of his body were assailing him from everywhere. Implacable, violent, and untamed. Nothing could prevent him from appropriating the nymph he lusted after. Thus, the former guardian released the dark brown-haired lass’ wrists and lifted the hem of her grey hoodie. The garment was taken off promptly, and then thrown carelessly. Nevertheless, the bloodsucker did not stop here. He wished to enjoy his swarthy half-blood’s intimacy, so he took off her green dress, as well as her silky underwear. Everything fell on the floor; Rose found herself naked. The enchanting sight she incarnated inflamed the man in such a way he pressed savagely his mouth against his goddess’. Lust had seized his mind; dazzling, intense. Flames of the eternal abyss had set on fire his senses. Starved, unsubdued, and rebellious, his palms began to shape the attractive silhouette with ardour, soaking up her curves with eagerness.

Whereas the Strigoi was truly enjoying his time, Hathaway had left the reality of the night since a short while, absolutely unaware of the Siberian forest in which she had tried to hide. Indeed, an unbearable heat was rising inside her like a raging ocean, dissociating her from everything, except for the feverish attentions her ex-instructor was giving her and her lust demanding to be sated. In order to take advantage of her position, the novice sheathed her fingers in her partner’s brown hair, not noticing the rubber band she undid in her momentum and then fell on the floor. While she arched her back and her stomach pressed itself against his spoilt shirt, her boyfriend put his right hand on her generous breast without the slightest care, starting to massage it firmly. This carnal contact made the pretty fugitive sigh with pleasure; she arched her back a little more, entranced. Nonetheless, Belikov did not stop here, leaving the tempting lips to reach far-off lands. Once there, he spread her shapely legs, lifting one of them in order to access the centre of the world. There, the universe stopped rotating. The frantic passing of time suspended.

A hungry mouth took possession of her sanctuary. An intrusive tongue entered her hidden place. Frozen lips avidly took over her intimacy.

Intoxicated by the taste of his fairy, the Russian savoured as required the offering she was giving him. His fugitive appeared to have succumbed to the sultry torment, giving whimpers that said much about her bliss. These lovely sounds aroused the vampire already excited. Highly receptive to this kind of stimuli, he appropriated the entirety of the kingdom of Aphrodite, drinking ravenously at the forbidden fountain. There, he quenched his thirst. He plunged. He drowned. Like a craving man; like a drug-addict. But soon, he wanted more, stimulated as he was, so his forefinger and middle finger came to assist him in his invasion, initiating saucy comings and goings. During several minutes, the Nosferatu carried on his torture merrily, eager to moisten his exploration. According to the sounds escaping the girl’s throat, he seemed to have more than succeeded. Pleased with the reactions created, Dimitri ceased his activity to stand up straight, hearing at the same time a cry of protest from his beloved. Staring deep into his mate’s eyes, he saw passion there, but, more than anything, frustration. She had obviously not liked his decision. “ _Never mind_ ,” he thought with determination. She would not keep this expression for long with what he intended to inflict on her. Definitely. So the Strigoi undressed at lightning speed, dropping shirt, blue jeans and underpants. Actually, he had a dhampir to send rhapsodising in Hell.

When he got rid of his clothes, the former guardian pressed himself against alluring Hathaway. He did not give her any opportunity to admire his athletic body—a body that attracted her so much. Indeed, debauchery was consuming the demon in such a way he started moving back and forth, acutely, in order to stimulate his painful turgescence. The rubbing rose the fever rushing into his burning veins, tightening his phallus proudly erect. Entranced by a fiery élan, the immortal enemy put his right hand under his half-blood’s left leg to lift it and hold it, while he revealed the secret of her femininity and began unbridled strokes. What a delight, what a bliss! Pleasure in all its glory. Since his awakening, he had never sought to taste the forbidden fruit, oddly waiting for the ingénue, whereas his lustful nature—trait appeared just after the conversion—would have conduced him to be satisfied with a mere young madam. However, each thrust showed him clearly he had been right to postpone this lascivious instant. Each thrust transported him into a world of excessive lewdness. Each thrust sharpened beyond anything possible his debauched side. Again and again, Belikov buried himself deep, wanting to push further the petty limits of their mortal coil. After a few moments, he defied the forbidden, committed the terrible infamy; performed the act the Moroi society viewed as taboo, as degrading; yielded to his instincts. He sank his sharp canines into the delicate nape in order to suck the precious liquid, the dark red essence, while he was riding his prey doggedly.

“Ah!” cried out the student in answer to the sudden intrusion, voice hoarse with arousal.

“You seem to highly appreciate my attentions, Roza,” whispered the Siberian after removing his fangs from his partner’s neck. “I’ll give you more, my nymph. Until you get panting with voluptuousness. Until you beg me to make you reach the orgasm as soon as possible.”

In order to put his licentious words into action, the ex-instructor sped up the rhythm of his furious comings and goings noticeably, his fingers biting the flesh they were grabbing. They would certainly leave their bluish brand, blatant sign of the man’s ardour. Nonetheless, he did not care about it, entranced as he was by the violence of their union. In the deepest recesses of his mind, he had envisioned awakening his protégé this way, by making her die of euphoria, by compelling her to capitulate, to subject her fiery temper to his will. Indeed, this method was much more pleasant than a fight during which he would have been forced to be brutal and, thus, enrage his fugitive. Not to say . . . kill her. So he carried on his activity, savouring each stroke, while the temperature of his muscled body was going up—unusual fact for a Strigoi, because this species was characterized by the coolness of its pale skin. After several minutes of a delightful torture, the Russian felt a series of contractions around his phallus, evidence according to which the dhampir was reaching a climax she seemed to have been waiting for intensely. As though she wanted to make the most of the instant, she clung to her lover’s shoulders, whereas she cried out, “Dimitri!” Her voice was half-muffled by the masculine neck.

Galvanized by this demonstration of pleasure, the foresaid individual let his concupiscence have free play, in order to pursue his fierce penetrations. He was nearly reaching his goal! Thus, he burried himself again and again, seeking to plunge always further. And at last—at last!—his orgasm came. Devastating. Dazzling. A pure moment of delight; of bliss. During a few minutes, jolts shook him violently, while a serenity as unexpected as it was welcome was flooding his body and mind. If a paradise for people like him ever existed, the Nosferatu had probably been sent there.

Catching his breath, the vampire settled his mouth on his mistress’ tantalizing nape and sank his fangs into it ravenously. In fact, he had to absorb as much blood as possible: one of the prerequisites to enable his belle’s conversion. Once this luscious task accomplished, his nail cut into the skin of his pectoral. A trickle of red sap got away from the injury, creating a scarlet stream in its wake. Subsequently, the former guardian ran his fingers through his lady-love’s silken hair, in order to invite her to press her lips against his sliced flesh. Not really aware of her acts in view of the present state characterizing her, Hathaway complied; gave in; bowed down. She opened her mouth; voluptuously licked the oozing wound; drank the carmine essence flowing from it. The ruby liquid flooded her throat for some time and, without warning, the girl passed out, becoming a dead weight against her beloved’s chest.

Not surprised by the sight he had just witnessed, because he had already lived the experience and had inflicted it on other people, the demon gathered his fairy into his arms; one settled on her back, the other under her knees. He then sat on the ground, before leaning back on the tree trunk that had been used as a support during their intercourse. After that he installed Rose more comfortably, laying her down partly on his lap, partly on an irregular soil covered with dead branches.

From then on, he just had to wait an hour or two and his work would finally be accomplished. Smiling at the delightful thought, the Strigoi closed his eyes in order to imagine the sinister future he was contemplating. Henceforth, everything was possible. Absolutely everything. Once the deadline was reached, the Siberian opened his eyelids, impatient as he was to look hungrily at his partner’s face. Her complexion was paler than usual, while brown irises with now red pupils were staring at him. Entranced by the perfection of the situation, the athletic Nosferatu bent over his magnificent mate and whispered in her ear, “Welcome to my world, Roza. Welcome to _your_ world.”

 

**_The End_ **

* * *

If there are any grammatical mistakes, misspellings, conjugation or punctuation horrors, they are solely mine. Indeed, English is not my mother tongue and the translation of this story—originally written in French—is my first try.


End file.
